


Rite of Spring

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aphrodisiacs, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sultana Romelle longs for a child, but she and Lotor are incompatible.  One day she finds a vendor selling fertility charms, and an idea starts to form... (This work contains both non-con and some <i>very</i> con.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU to my AU [Harem](http://archiveofourown.org/works/291700). You need not read Harem first.
> 
> Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron.

“That’s a fertility charm, my lady,”

 

The sultana looked up from studying the intricately worked golden talisman.  “I beg your pardon?” Her voice was low and husky.

 

The woman in the booth smiled winningly up at her.  “A fertility charm.” Her words were just audible above the hum and bustle of the bazaar.  A caravan had arrived at the sultan’s palace just yesterday, and reluctant permission had been given for the merchants to set up in the courtyard.  She hadn’t had any nibbles at her wares all morning.  The pretty blond woman in the sky blue silks, with a gauzy veil of the same color over her face, was her first customer.  The girl who accompanied her looked enough like her that they might be sisters, and was dressed in a similar fashion, except in pink.  Hovering behind them was a swarthy man with a sword who absolutely screamed _guard_.  Falla was new here, but she knew the royalty when she saw it.

 

Falla picked up the small disk at which the sultana had been staring.  “Specially worked with the symbol of Zafir, the goddess of rain, on this side, and” her nimble brown fingers deftly spun the charm over, “that of the great god of corn, Bar, on the other.”  She winked up at the women’s rapt expressions.  “These tiny runes around the edges are a spell, designed to enhance the fruitfulness of the wearer.  Since it is bears the symbols of both male and female deities, it will work equally well for a woman or a man.” 

 

At that, the girl with the woman in blue frowned slightly, and said, “I find that hard to believe.”  She laid her hand on her companion’s arm, and was about to draw her away.

 

Inwardly, Falla sighed.  _Always one in every crowd_ , she thought, trying to dredge up a more convincing argument.  Then she caught sight of the first woman’s face and had to hide her smile.  _Maybe,_ she thought triumphantly, _maybe I don’t have to!_

 

The sultana was staring wistfully at the charm, ignoring the girl’s tacit urging.  The girl caught a glimpse of her expression, and her tone was incredulous as she asked, “Surely, my lady, you don’t believe her?”

 

“Hush, Alli.”  The girl subsided, glaring at Falla, who had all she could do not to gloat.  “What is your price?” she asked.

 

“My lady, for you…” Unaccountably, Falla hesitated, glancing from Alli to the woman in blue.  She had been about to charge an exorbitant sum, sure that it would be paid without a quiver, but something in the woman’s expression – yearning, needy – changed her mind.  “For you, a gold,” she muttered, cursing her empathy.

 

“Pay her, Alli.”  Grudgingly, Alli dug into the small pouch she carried, and flipped a small gold piece to Falla.

 

“Thank you, my lady,” Falla said, smiling again.  “I’ll string it on a bit of ribbon for you.  I’ve a length of blue the color of your clothes…” She rummaged in the rear of her small stall for a moment, then returned with a loop of ribbon in the promised color.  She quickly threaded the small charm onto the ribbon and presented it to her customer with a flourish.  “Wear it in good health, my lady!”

 

“Thank you.”  Studying the charm again, a faint smile crossed her features.  As quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and she, Alli and their guard had turned away, jostling their way through the crowd.

 

“I can’t believe you bought that, my lady.”  Alli’s tone was gently scolding, as she looked at her mistress from the corner of her eye.

 

“Why not?” the sultana replied.  “It’s a pretty piece, no matter what.  And if it does happen to be a fertility charm, so much the better,” she finished softly, certain that neither Alli nor the guard would hear.  She tied the ribbon around her neck and slipped the golden disk beneath the silk of her blouse.

 

***

 

The guard in the sultana’s quarters tonight was, as most of the guards, tall and muscular.  But there was something about this one that set him apart.  _Actually,_ Romelle thought, considering him as he stood impassively by the door, _there were several things_.  He was a bit taller than most of the other guards, and much more muscular.  His skin, while tanned, was not naturally dark like so many others.  His dark hair was caught in a tail, almost too long to be practical, but he resisted his captain’s requests to trim it.  While his cheeks were clean-shaven, around his mouth there grew a bit of mustache and beard, not much more than stubble, really.  It made him look… roguish, and merely increased his attractiveness.

 

She wondered what he looked like beneath the flowing white shirt and loose trousers.  What she imagined made her smile.

 

Suddenly, she felt his eyes upon her, and realized that she’d been staring.  Blushing, she quickly looked away, back to her harem of lovely boys, and slowly let her attention be reclaimed.

 

Pidge had stopped dancing some time ago, and was sitting beside her on his knees.  His face was pink, certainly not from exertion now, and he studied the floor intently.  Lance sat behind her, his hands soothing on her shoulders, rubbing gently.  From time to time, his ministrations slackened, and she knew that he, too, was absorbed by the display.

 

She didn’t begrudge him at all.

 

Sven and Keith were in the center of the room, between her and the door.  Keith lay on a large cushion, his long hair spread out, with Sven kneeling over him.  Keith was flushed, perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps from the kisses Sven placed upon his neck.  Eyes closed, he let his head loll to the side, to give Sven better access to those sensitive nerves.  The sound he made was quiet, almost a groan, and one of his hands brushed Sven’s black hair, his pale shoulder.

 

“My lady?”

 

A bit impatiently, Romelle turned to Pidge, who had murmured to her.  His discomfiture was painfully apparent; though he still sat next to her, he would not look at her, and directed his gaze at the tiles in front of her cushion.  His face was, if possible, even redder than it had been mere moments ago, and he shifted continuously upon his knees.  She forced herself to swallow the tart remark she had been about to make, and asked, “Yes, Angel?”

 

Pidge wet his lips nervously.  “May… may I be excused, please?” he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

 

Lance’s hands stilled on her shoulders.  She sensed he wanted to say something, but a quick shake of her head forestalled him.  “Why?” she inquired gently, though she already knew the answer.

 

Pidge’s wide green eyes flew to her face at that, and he choked.  “Please, my lady… I can’t…”

 

Finally allowing her irritation to show, she waved one hand, and curtly ordered, “Go, then.”

 

Gratefully, he took her hand and kissed it, before nearly running from the room.

 

Her eyes followed Pidge’s flight, and she met the guard’s eyes again.  He was watching her impassively, seeking any action that the sultan would consider _unsuitable_. 

 

Lance resumed his massage, and Romelle relaxed back into his skilled hands.  She allowed herself a private, bitter smile.  Without exception, none of the members of her small harem had the slightest interest in her sexually.  And that was quite apart from the fact that she was their mistress.  Everything was within the bounds of propriety… more or less.

 

Keith cried out again, drawing her attention back to him and Sven.  Apparently, neither had noticed Pidge’s hurried departure.  Sven had continued laving kisses on Keith’s neck, working his way down onto the other’s chest, and now suckled on one of his nipples with a soft smacking sound.  Keith had arched his back, both hands twined in Sven’s hair, pulling his head closer.  Sven was smiling slightly, his hands lightly stroking Keith’s sides, his chest.  Slowly, lips leaving a moist trail across Keith’s heaving chest, he transferred his attentions to Keith’s other nipple, while his long fingers teased the one he’d just abandoned. 

 

Keith shuddered under the assault, eyes tightly closed.  Romelle’s smile was soft and wondering now.  _No matter how many times they’ve done this in front of me, he’s still embarrassed by it, poor thing,_ she thought.  She cared for all of the members of her harem, and while she doted upon Pidge, Keith’s guileless face and dark eyes had touched her somehow.  It seemed he was born to play the innocent; the one time that she had ever seen him try to take the lead in these sex games, he’d abruptly lost his nerve, and had still ended up being the taken, rather than the taker.

 

Her eyes kept straying from the spectacle of her harem boys to the guard by the door.  Gods, he was appealing.  Not beautiful like Pidge, nor handsome like the older boys, but… definitely pleasing to the eye.  Manly, that was the word.  Very, very manly.

 

 _It’s funny.  Tonight, I’m enjoying looking at him and Lance’s massage more than watching the other two._

 

Sven’s seduction of an all-too-willing Keith was proceeding apace. Keith’s red loincloth was a tent, now.   Sven’s kisses had reached his navel.  His hands ran lightly up and down Keith’s thighs, drawing ever closer to the thin cloth.  Keith whimpered, his hips rocking, silently begging for contact.  He’d fisted his hands in the velvet of the cushion upon which he lay, rather than pull Sven’s hair.  Sven seemed to ignore him, let his tongue flicker in and out of Keith’s bellybutton, then he started to kiss his way back up

 

Keith groaned in disappointment, unaware of the stealthy movements of Sven’s hands.  Very slowly and delicately, he began to lift the cloth away, so slowly that the missing touch of the fabric would not become immediately apparent.  When he’d reached Keith’s neck again, nibbling and suckling, his fingers just barely brushed Keith’s quivering erection, and he moaned, arching off the cushion again.

 

Behind her, Romelle heard Lance’s breath catch, almost as if he were feeling what Keith was feeling.  Her own breathing was none too steady.

 

Sven’s hand was unmoving and it was driving Keith crazy.  He began to rock his hips again, trying to create that delicious friction he craved, but Sven lifted his hand away, chuckling as Keith made a strangled sound and opened his dark eyes in surprise. 

 

“Be still,” Sven whispered, smiling, and his hand came to rest on Keith again.  Keith closed his eyes at the contact, and though he trembled, he did not otherwise move.  Sven’s smile widened, and he began to stroke Keith’s manhood, stopping if Keith so much as shifted his hips.  He bent to press his lips to the slim golden body beneath him, kissing Keith’s neck and chest, slowly working his way down once more.

 

Romelle shivered.  Suddenly, she identified with Keith more than she ever had before.  In her fantasies, she often saw herself as the aggressive one, pinning the object of her desires beneath her and having her way.  Now, she wondered what it would be like to be simply _taken_ , teased as Keith was tonight.

 

 _Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all_ , she thought uneasily, to watch them play before her meeting with her husband.  At least not with Sven feeling as dominant as he obviously was tonight.

 

Sven nipped at the skin of Keith’s belly, moving lower, to the tangle of hair from which the other’s erection sprung.  Suddenly, he dipped and gave that proud flesh a broad swipe of his tongue.  Keith exclaimed wordlessly, his hips bucking involuntarily.  Sven drew back slightly, and the sound Keith made turned into something rather like a whine.

 

Grinning, Sven bent forward again, and let his tongue swirl about the tip of Keith’s manhood.  Keith let one hand move from the cushion to Sven’s black hair, and when this was allowed, the other swiftly joined it.

 

Sven’s mouth closed over the head of Keith’s erection.  Keith shivered, but did not try to exert any pressure with his hands, to try to force Sven to swallow him more quickly.  Gradually, Sven took him in, almost infuriatingly slowly to Keith, who began to toss his head back and forth on the pillow.

 

Finally, Sven’s head began bobbing up and down, his tongue doing unimaginable things.  Romelle stared, fascinated, as Keith’s muscles began to quiver from the effort of holding himself still.  Panting, he fought to keep himself from thrusting into Sven’s mouth.

 

Without warning, however, he lost the battle, and his hips began to buck again, but Sven didn’t stop.  Easily, he adjusted to Keith’s movements, and never slowed his rhythm.  Keith’s moans became louder, and the muscles in his body tightened.  Suddenly, his back arched up off the pillow one last time, and he gave a low, gasping cry as his climax took him.  Sven held still, as Keith shuddered beneath him, then, when he’d quieted once again, began to lick up the sticky white fluid that had overflowed his mouth. 

 

Keith was still breathless.  Romelle swore she could see his pulse pounding rapidly in his throat.  Sven crawled up until he was hovering over Keith, and began to press kisses to his sweaty face.

 

Lance had long since stopped his massage, but his hands were still on her shoulders.  She turned her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye.  His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was biting his lip.  Romelle could feel his tremors through his hands.  Shifting her position a little, she leaned back, and felt the evidence of his arousal.

 

Her own excitement was humming through her, warming her blood, heating her cheeks.  How could anyone _not_ be aroused by that display?  She could not blame him.

 

“My lady!” Lance’s voice was a shocked whisper in her ear.  She looked at him again, and saw his blue eyes were wide in surprise. 

 

She smiled slightly, and turned to face him.  Cupping his cheek, she murmured, “Sweetheart, it’s all right.”  Then she rose to her feet, grateful that her legs were steady enough to hold her.  “I must go see the sultan now,” she said in the same tone, not wanting to interrupt the love play still going on behind her.  She could hear Sven purring deep in his throat.  “When they are finished, you are all free to do as you wish the rest of the evening.”  Thinking of Pidge, she sobered.  “And please, Lance, tell Pidge I’m sorry I was upset with him.”  She let her fingers trail lightly over his face, into his hair.

 

Lance nodded, his face still flushed from her bold act.

 

She crossed to the door, wanting to keep Keith and Sven from knowing that she was leaving.  They were now too engrossed in each other to take notice of anything going on around them.  The guard’s gaze never left her.  She looked up, up into his soulful brown eyes, and felt her cheeks pinken further.  _Definitely attractive_ , she thought.  With a smile that was a little forced, she said, “Come with me, please.”

 

The guard bowed, and gestured her to precede him out the door.  His footfalls were heavy behind her as they left her quarters and walked down the corridor.

 

Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “What is your name?”

 

Smiling a bit shyly, the guard replied, “Hunk, my lady.”  His voice was deep, rich and it rumbled up from his chest like thunder.

 

“Hmm.”  She returned her gaze to the hallway before her.  “Please tell your captain that I would like you to serve in my chambers in the evenings from now on.”

 

“Yes, my lady.”  If the duty was at all distasteful to him, he didn’t let it show in his voice.  Her estimation of him went up another notch.

 

Her steps slowed as they approached the sultan’s quarters.  She always dreaded seeing her husband.  She imagined that he was already well into his cups tonight, and what her interview with him would be like, then shuddered in revulsion.

 

“My lady?” Hunk had noticed.  His voice was filled with concern.

 

Romelle stopped, one hand on the carved panel of the door.  “I would like for you to wait for me here,” she said quietly, “rather than inside.” Despite the fact that everyone knew about them, she felt that the problems between her and her husband were not for public display.  Especially not the one she was about to discuss.

 

Hunk nodded.  She summoned a smile and slipped inside.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my lovely wife.”  Her husband’s voice was deep and carrying, heavy with sarcasm.  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she made out the gleam of his white hair, tailed over his shoulder.  Lotor lounged upon his throne, long legs sprawled in front of him.  He was fit, and very well made, she had to admit.  A man to make many a woman’s heart beat a little faster.  Muscles bulged in his arms and chest and legs, visible even through the loose fitting shirt and trousers.  His face was devilishly handsome, his ears tapering elfishly to delicate points.  His only drawbacks were the blue cast to his skin, his serpent-like yellow eyes…

 

… and the fact that she was not attracted to him in the slightest.  Otherwise, everything would be fine.

 

With some disdain, she observed that he held his goblet of wine so carelessly that it dripped onto the floor.  Was he drunk?  She could never tell.  Looking around, she saw that, for once, his dancing girls were not in evidence at all.  _At least he honored my request for a private audience,_ she thought.  But that did not help her flagging courage.

 

“What do you want, Romelle?”  Taking a sip, he studied her over the rim of his goblet.  She cursed her nervousness that made her jump at the sound of his voice, and redoubled it when his lips curled in a jeering grin.  The lingering warmth from her arousal vanished in an instant.

 

At least her husky voice was firm when she spoke.  “Lotor, I know that you only married me to secure Arus for your father.  But what you and he may not have taken into consideration was that the only heir that the Arusians will accept will be one of my body.” Her voice became slightly scornful.  “I don’t care how many of your harem girls you impregnate; none of those children will ever sit on your throne.  The people of Arus will simply not allow it.  Any son not of my line will be overthrown at the very first opportunity.”

 

“Come to the point.”  He was angry, scowling at her now.  “I know very well that I need an heir.  That is not news to me.”

 

Perhaps he had _not_ impregnated those girls?  They claimed he had.

 

Quickly, she discarded those thoughts, and continued.  “I laid with you on our wedding night, but never since.  But I don’t think that you can breed with me.” _His face turns slightly purple when he flushes,_ she noticed dispassionately.  _Interesting._

 

“Are you questioning…” He rose from his seat, flinging away the now empty goblet.  It clattered on the tiles of the floor.

 

She smirked.  “Of course not, husband.  I merely meant that you and I are too different to interbreed.”

 

Lotor frowned.  “My mother was human.  She was able to breed with my father…”

 

“With all the scientific resources of Doom at their disposal, _of_ _course_.  Remember, though, that when your father conquered Arus, all of the native technology was destroyed, to reduce the effectiveness of any uprising.  There is no one alive now that can remember any techniques for recombinant DNA, or splicing genes, or any such thing.”

 

“Very well.” His frown lifted.  “So, you will go to Doom, and have our scientists implant you with a custom-made embryo.  That way, Arus will be satisfied, and I will have the heir I require.”

 

Romelle shook her head in mock sorrow.  “As long as I am here, you will have no troubles with revolts.  If I were to leave for any length of time, however…” She shrugged eloquently.  “What proof would those who feel rebellious have that I would ever return?  You’d find their swords at your throat before I’d landed on Doom.”

 

His glower was quite fierce.  Gritting his teeth, he asked, “So what do you suggest, Romelle?”

 

She smiled evilly.  The pure malice in it took Lotor aback visibly.  “To prove that we cannot interbreed, I will lay with you during my fertile period this month.  You will not enjoy yourself with your harem girls, so as not to exhaust yourself.  If I do not become pregnant…” Her grin widened.  “ _I_ will choose the father of my child, someone fully human, and _you_ will accept it as your own.”

 

“ _What?_ ” In his outrage, Lotor leapt at her and grabbed her tightly by the shoulders.  “Perhaps you had better re-think your plan, _wife_ ,” he growled.

 

His grip on her was very painful, but she forced herself to continue smiling.  “Why, husband, do you think you are _unable_ to breed with me?” she asked smoothly.

 

He did not release her so much as thrust her away from him.  She staggered, but did not fall.  He was silent for a long moment, his back to her, trying to contain his rage.  His muscles bunched under his shirt.  Very calmly, in a voice that belied his true feelings, he asked, “And what assurance do I have that the time you lie with me will actually _be_ your fertile period?”  He faced her again, fists clenched.  “How do I know you won’t trick me?”

 

“Haggar will confirm it.”  When he stared at her in barely concealed amazement, she shrugged.  “It is, after all, in her best interest that I carry _your_ child rather than someone else’s.”  If there had been any way she could have gotten around having Haggar examine her, she would have.  As dearly as she loathed her husband, she hated the witch even more, and he knew it.

 

“And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it, Romelle?” Lotor asked suddenly.

 

She blinked, suddenly fearful.  “Excuse me?”

 

He advanced on her again, and before she could stop herself, she took a step back.  His lips curved in a cruel smile, and he grabbed her arms again.  Even knowing it was futile, she did struggle for a moment, as he dragged her to him again.  “That’s what this is all about,” he whispered in her ear.  His scent – a mixture of wine and sweat and his own slightly leathery, musky odor – overwhelmed her.  “ _You_ want a child.”  Suddenly, his breath in her ear was replaced with his tongue, swirling about the delicate lobe.  She twitched, trying to jerk away, but his grip was too strong.  “You want a child so badly that you are even willing to sully yourself by bedding me.”  He kissed her, then, and her mouth filled with the stale taste of wine as he forced his tongue between her lips.

 

Abruptly, he released her again, and this time, she did fall.  He stood, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression.  “Two months.”

 

She shook her head, confused.  “I…”

 

“Two months to test my virility with you.”  He crouched beside her, and took her chin in his strong fingers.  “Then, and only then, may you… stray.”  His fingers clenched, and she winced.  “I must approve of your choice, and your harem boys are _not_ acceptable.  Those are my terms.”

 

She stared at him hatefully for a long moment before jerking her head in assent.  He let go of her and rose easily.  His smile was distinctly unpleasant.  “Now, my dearest.” The irony in his tone was palpable.  “Take yourself into my bedchamber.  We will make a trial run, to make sure that we are indeed compatible.”  He laughed shortly.

 

She stared at him, stunned, eyes wide.  His patience at an end, he yanked her to her feet and shoved her ahead of him.  “You heard me,” he snarled in her ear.  “This is how we will seal our agreement.”  He slammed the door to his bedroom behind them.

 

When he ripped the thin silk of her blouse, she bit her lip so hard to keep from screaming that it bled.  She had forgotten how rough he really was.  _How am I going to be able to endure this?_ she asked herself frantically, as Lotor flung her on the bed.

 

At least it was over quickly.  As soon as he had finished, Lotor rolled off her, sneered down at her as he adjusted his pants, and strode from the room.  It took Romelle a little longer to recover.  Her entire body seemed to ache, as she tried to find the edge of the enormous bed.  She managed to push herself upright, off the bed, and stood swaying for a moment before bending to collect the remnants of her clothes.  As she did, she became aware of a slight weight, swinging from her neck.  Straightening, she looked down, and cupped the fertility charm she still wore.  _I’d forgotten about that,_ she thought.  _Well, we’ll find out if it’s stronger than genetics._   She let it go, and though it should have been well warmed from her body, it was slightly chill as it touched her skin.

 

Her blouse was in shreds, and was decent only if she held it closed.  She wished she had chosen to wear something other than her favorite outfit, but she’d had no idea how he would have reacted.  The skirt of silk and gauze was more or less intact, as he’d found the belt tie before he could get too impatient with it.  She stepped into it, tied it, and tried to discover where her slippers had gone.  Then she fled.

 

 _Oh, I’m hiding it well,_ she thought sarcastically, _by letting my training as a princess take over, and walking oh-so stately, but in my heart, I’m running.  I can’t let him see how much he disgusts me._

 

Once outside the door, outside the sultan’s apartment, she collapsed.

 

“My lady!” The guard, Hunk, was still waiting for her.  He caught her before she could hit the floor.  “What happened?  Are you hurt?”

 

Her knees would not support her, no mater how she threatened them.  “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice a bit shaky.  “But I would like to go back to my rooms, now.”

 

Hunk scooped her up into his arms.  “If you’re sure, my lady.  But I will fetch the witch if you need…”

 

She shook her head emphatically, then relaxed against his wide chest as he began to walk.  His scent was also that of leather, but without that muskiness she smelt on her husband.  This scent was… spicy, too, somehow.  She felt immeasurably comforted by his strong arms, the _lub-dub_ of his heart beneath her ear.  She could almost imagine…

 

She did manage not to fall asleep as he carried her, but it was a near thing.  Being held in his arms was warmer and more comfortable than her bed, than anything she’d ever known.  Though the rest of her apartments were dark, a light shone from her bedchamber, and Hunk bore her in that direction.  Carefully, as if she were made of glass, he set her upon her bed, and stepped back.

 

There was a muffled exclamation, and a tousled head popped up from beneath the coverlet.  At the sound, Hunk had grabbed his sword and started to draw it.  Immediately, Romelle sat up and reached out to put a hand on his arm.  “No!  It’s only Pidge.”  And indeed, the boyish face revealed by the glow of the candle was that of the youngest member of her harem.

 

“My lady?” Pidge yawned.

 

Hunk frowned, his thick eyebrows drawing together.  Suddenly, he looked menacing in the candlelight, very much at odds with what she had perceived earlier.  “My lady, the sultan’s orders are quite explicit…” His hand hesitated, his blade half drawn from its scabbard.

 

“He’s only a child!” she retorted fiercely.  She turned to Pidge and smiled reassuringly.  Lightly, she ran a hand through his hair, brushing the curls away from his white face.  He had instantly known the danger he was in.  She spoke very softly, and though she did not face Hunk again, she directed her words at him.  “When he first became a member of my harem, he had nightmares.  It seemed that sleeping in my bed soothed them.  Perhaps I reminded him of his mother.  Now it is more a matter of habit than anything else.”  Then she did turn, and stared at the guard coldly as she drew Pidge into her arms.  “I know my husband’s orders,” she said, her voice hard.  “I am not now, nor have I ever been, in danger of breaking my marriage vows.  Put your sword away.  I will not let you kill him.”

 

After a moment of studying them, the sultana with her arms protectively around the boy, Hunk did as she ordered.

 

Immediately, she smiled.  “Thank you.  You may go now.  And… thank you for your assistance.”

 

Hunk bowed, smiling in return.  “It was my pleasure, my lady.” The heavy ring of his bootheels echoed through the chamber as he left.

 

“It’s all right, my Angel,” she murmured, as Pidge began shaking in her arms.  “It was all the truth, and you are safe.”

 

“I… I know, my lady,” he stammered into her shoulder.  “But what if he hadn’t believed you?”

 

Romelle had no answer to that, so she merely stroked his back.  After a few minutes, his trembling subsided.  She held him away from her a little, and said, too brightly, “Now, if you will go find Alli for me…” Unfortunately, at the movement, her blouse gaped open.

 

“My lady!”  At his shocked tone, she took one arm from around him to hold the fabric closed over her breast.  She couldn’t look at him, and stared at the coverlet.

 

“He hurt you, didn’t he.”  The grim, sullen tone of his voice surprised her.  “Just like he hurts Keith and Lance and Sven.  He’s evil!”  Pidge’s voice started to rise, but Romelle cut him off sharply.

 

“Hush.  Don’t let anyone else hear you say that.  Please, just go get Alli for me.”  Grudgingly, he did as she asked.

 

Throughout the warm, soothing bath, and Alli’s treatment of the little wounds Lotor had inflicted, Romelle wondered at the reactions of the small fertility charm.  It had been cold after Lotor had finished with her.  When she left his room, it had instantly warmed to her body temperature, then became almost hot against her chest when Hunk had picked her up.  Once he’d left her in her room, it had cooled again – not as cold as it had been with Lotor, but cool, certainly less than her body heat.  Mulling it over, as Alli and Pidge fussed about her, she came to a conclusion that she very much liked, and a slow smile stretched her swollen lip.

 

“Alli, I have an errand for you, tomorrow…”

 

***

 

“My prince, why did you agree to this outrageous…”

 

“Silence, Haggar!”  Lotor clenched his fists, not having anything handy to throw.  Haggar pursed her lips, and said no more.  They were alone in the main chamber of his quarters.  Lotor sat upon his throne, staring down at the witch.  The form she had affected to help him rule Arus – and to help his father keep tabs on him, he well knew – was an attractive one.  The only thing it didn’t disguise was her eyes – without pupil, completely yellow, and glowing slightly in the dim light.  Her height had not changed – she was still of about average height, and the gnarled staff she carried was as tall as she.  Her hair was long and straight, a very pale ashen blond in color.  Her skin was also very pale, cream just touched with roses at her cheek and lip.  Her features were flawless… except when she smiled.  Slightly pointed canine teeth protruded over her lip when she did.

 

He was certain that this was an affectation.  Surely this couldn’t be her true form?

 

Remembering her question, he shifted on his throne uneasily.  “All that she told me was the truth, Haggar.  The people we’ve conquered have not accepted our regime as inevitable.  That’s why Father married me to that shrew in the first place.  Her Polluxian origins were supposed to placate them.  But she’s done it too well.  She cannot leave the planet, or there _will_ be an uprising.  How did she know that, I wonder?” he asked, of himself more than the witch.  Shaking his head, he continued, “And she might be right that she and I cannot interbreed.  It is to discover that…”

 

“But, my prince!  Surely you could have delayed her!”  Haggar interrupted.  “We could have brought our scientists…”

 

“There are no facilities here for that, or have your forgotten how Father laid waste to the planet?”  He frowned.  “No, it seemed to me that she was putting a definite time limit on her ultimatum, perhaps to keep that very thing from happening.”

 

“Ask yourself, sire, what treachery does she plan?  Does she mean to overthrow you, and replace you with this… bastard child she wants?”

 

Lotor relaxed, then, and settled back in his throne.  A self-satisfied smile curled his lip.  “Oh, I don’t think she has the courage for that.  She merely wants a child.  It is a very womanly desire, Haggar,” he taunted.  “Have you never wanted one?”

 

The witch’s eyes narrowed to yellow slits, but she did not answer.

 

He went on, “In fact, I don’t think she’ll even go so far as to find another man.  Her courage will fail her well before that, when she thinks of my wrath.”

 

Haggar cleared her throat.  “In any case,” she muttered, “the sultana will be fertile for the next 4 or 5 days.  I will have her escorted to your chamber tonight.” She turned toward the door.  “Just make sure you do your part,” she finished under her breath.

 

When the door had creaked closed behind her, Lotor grinned.  “Oh, I will, witch.”

 

***

 

Romelle lifted her face to Lotor’s, feeling a trickle of blood from her split lip, but the pain didn’t keep her from smiling triumphantly.  “I was right.  You and I are unable to interbreed naturally; we are just too different.”

 

He backhanded her again, the force of it spinning her around, sending her to her knees.  “You traitorous bitch,” he spat.  “How did you manipulate this?”

 

Her shoulders shook with surpressed laughter.  “I did nothing, Lotor.  I just laid there.”  Suddenly, she couldn’t keep it inside any longer, and laughed loudly.

 

 

He held her tightly, her back against his chest, and bent to whisper in her ear. “You think you’ve won, don’t you, wife.”  He snickered.  “I have something to ask you.  How old do you think my father is?”  When she could do nothing but try to shake her head and gasp for air, he answered his own question.  “He is 115, and still as strong as ever.  Because of my mother’s human blood, I will not be quite so long lived, but remember that I am likely to outlive any child you have by a mere human.”  Her gasps took on a desperate sound, and her face started to turn purple.  “Think on that.” He let his tongue swirl inside her ear for a moment, then simply dropped her.  She fell to the floor on her face, wheezing.  “So go, find the man who makes your gizzard throb, and fuck yourself silly.  Have the child you so desire.  In the end, I will still win.”

 

 _That’s what you think,_ Romelle thought venomously, still too deprived of air to speak.  Coughing, she fought to breathe, and when she was able, she staggered to her feet.  She took a few tottering steps toward the door.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lotor asked, his tone haughty.

 

“I’m going to start looking,” she croaked, her hand on the latch.  “Then, as I have your permission, I’m going to enjoy myself with a man who knows how to please a woman as well as himself…” She slipped out the door before he could grab her again.  His angry howls through the wood of the door gave her great satisfaction.

 

“My lady?” Hunk had gotten rather used to catching her as she fled the sultan’s quarters in the past couple months.  He steadied her, and frowned at the blood flowing from her lip, at her swelling cheek.  “I thought you said you had good news for him.”

 

Leaning heavily on Hunk’s thick arm, she was able to produce a lop-sided smile that didn’t hurt too much.  “I said I had good news.  I meant I had good news for _me_ , not for _him_.”  Her voice felt rusty, but she chuckled nonetheless.  “Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my rooms?” 

 

He smiled, and inside, she melted.  She barely heard him when he said, “Of course, my lady.” 

 

***

 

“My lady, are you sure this is a good idea?”  Alli asked nervously, playing with the end of her braid.

 

“Yes.”  _Oh, yes,_ Romelle thought, _this is a deliciously good idea._   She touched the hollow between her breasts, to make sure that the fertility charm she’d purchased was still there.  “Do you have the belt?”

 

Frowning in disapproval, Alli took the “belt” from its hiding place and handed it to her.  It was a bit of leather, about three fingers wide, plain and unadorned, meant to be fastened low about the hips of the wearer.  From small holes punched in the lower edge dangled a dozen fertility charms, identical to the one she wore.  The ribbons on which they swung were of a pale yellow, the same shade that the leather of the belt had been dyed.

 

“Very good.” Romelle breathed, fingering the soft leather.  “My lovely boys?”

 

“They are all fast asleep, of course.  I have locked the door.  You did have them entertain you rather early, my lady… and rather thoroughly.  Poor Pidge was asleep before his head touched his pillow, and the others were nearly as exhausted.”  While her tone was not exactly condemning, it was clear that she did not fully approve of such actions.  “In just over an hour, I will unlock it again, as you have ordered.”

 

“And the guard?”

 

“He is waiting for his replacement.”

 

“Excellent.  When his replacement arrives, please bring him here.”

 

Still frowning, Alli bowed.  “Yes, my lady.”  Spinning around, she stalked out of the sultana’s bedchamber.

 

Romelle shook her head, feeling the weight of her hair rippling down her back.  It was completely unbound, and she was unaccustomed to having it falling in her face.  She sat down on her floor cushion, her feet tucked beneath her, and waited.  She was nervous – not nearly as jumpy as Alli, but still on edge.

 

One night.  One night, just to prove…

 

“My lady?  You wished to see me?”  Hunk entered her bedchamber and stood by the door.

 

She smiled.  “Yes.  I am in need of company.”  She gestured around her.  “My boys have fallen ill.  I have sent them to bed, but now I’m alone.  Would you entertain me tonight?”  When his tanned cheeks flushed beneath his perpetual stubble, she laughed.  “No, no, not like that.  I just… need someone to talk to, and I’m afraid that I’ve never gotten along well with other women.”  She picked up a goblet of wine, and swirled it, staring into the dark red depths.  “If it wouldn’t be too much bother… I’d like to talk to you.”

 

Gingerly, Hunk settled himself to a nearby cushion.  “Of course, my lady.  It would be my pleasure…” 

 

She smiled in unfeigned gratitude, and handed him a second goblet of wine.  “Thank you!”

 

He tossed back the entire cupful in one gulp, and held it out for more.  She blinked, but refilled it from the jug on the floor between them.  This time, he sipped at it, looking at her over the rim, but he smiled pleasantly when he lowered it.  He rested his forearm across his upraised knee.  “What would you like to talk about, my lady?” he asked.

 

“Tell me… about where you come from, about yourself, your childhood.  Anything you want.”  She set down her glass and arranged herself more comfortably on her cushion.

 

She was actually so intrigued by his story, the deep rumble of his voice, that she missed the moment the sweat started to bead on his forehead.  Her smile grew wider when she noticed it.  It meant that the aphrodisiac she’d put into the wine was beginning to take effect.  It would also make him agreeable to suggestions, according to the woman from whom she’d purchased it.

 

“Are you warm, my lady?” Hunk asked, wiping his brow.  “Suddenly…”

 

“If you’re hot, you can take off your shirt,” she said, trying to keep the remark sounding off-hand.  “I mean, it’s not as if I’m not used to seeing men walking around without their shirts.”  And she grinned at him, almost daring him.

 

Instantly, he peeled off the white shirt, and, despite her words, she caught her breath.  Oh, the way his muscles rolled!  His chest was even broader than she had imagined, and was covered with a thick forest of hair, which narrowed to a vee over his flat stomach.  His skin was a bit lighter, where the sun rarely touched it, but not appreciably so.  The hair he had tied back fell over his shoulder as he dropped the shirt beside him.  “That’s better,” he sighed, stretching his long arms.  She stared at the interplay of his corded muscles for a long moment before she caught herself and forced herself to look away. 

 

Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she really wanted a sip of the wine… but she was certain she didn’t need it.

 

 _A man that makes my heart throb…_

 

She turned back to him with a smile.  “Keep going…” she ordered, hoping he would read her intent and continue taking off his clothes… but he continued with his story.

 

After a few more minutes, the sweat was pouring off him, and she suggested he could take off his boots and pants, if he wanted.

 

“But my lady!” he protested.  “That wouldn’t be…”

 

“As long as you are wearing _something_ , it will be fine, right?”  She picked up the belt and handed it to him.  “Wear that.”

 

He looked at it doubtfully, then up at her.  His deep brown eyes were confused, slightly glazed.  “It doesn’t look… _decent_ , my lady.”  And he was right – it was far less decent than the loincloths her harem boys wore.

 

Romelle knelt up on her cushion, and walked her hands over to where he sat, until they were face to face.  “That’s all right, Hunk,” she whispered against his lips.  “Just put it on.”  Then she kissed him very lightly.

 

His face was flushed when she pulled back.  “Go ahead,” she urged.  He turned so that his back was to her, and scuffed off his boots, then wiggled out of his trousers.  She admired his back, the rippling muscles fanning her desire.

 

 _Oh, how I want him… Right now, I don’t care if he is an even worse lover than Lotor.  I just_ want _him._

 

She saw he was having trouble trying to do the catch of the belt, and offered, “Here, let me.”  Her fingers clasped it with no trouble, and then lingered, feeling the heat rising from his back.  “There you go.”

 

Without warning, he stood up, and she stared at his firm buttocks, at the length of his legs.  Then he turned, and posed in front of her, hands on his hips, hips tilted suggestively, manhood pointing skyward and his grin startlingly white in his face.  The fertility charms glittered and swung in the candlelight, and chimed as they struck each other.  “Like this, my lady? Shall I dance for you, too?”  He laughed at her surprise, but did not break his pose.  His eyes danced as he looked down at her.  Slowly, she realized…

 

“You knew.”  Romelle had to smile.

 

“Of course I knew.  I’m not nearly as dumb as people would like to think.”  He continued grinning down at her.  “I’ve known since the first time I caught you staring at me.”  He reached down and caught her hand, pulling her up easily and crushing her against his chest.  “Now,” and even whispering, his voice was like thunder, “you haven’t answered my question.  Shall I dance, or shall we just get right on to the next part?”  His breath was hot in her ear, and she shivered delightfully as he nibbled on it.

 

For a moment, Romelle savored the satiny feel of his back beneath her hands, compared it with the rough feel of the hair on his chest.  Then she grinned impishly up at him.  “What is the next part?”

 

In answer, he ran his hands expertly over her body, molding her breasts through her silk blouse.  As he bent to kiss her, his thick fingers plucked at the strings holding her blouse closed, then worked at the knot of her skirt.

 

His kiss left her breathless, heady with desire.  “The next part,” he murmured, “will require you to be naked, and the use of yon bed.”

 

“Then why don’t you show me the next part, and dance later?”

 

***

 

Alli listened at the sultana’s door, clutching her robe closer about her to ward of the chill of the night air.  _I thought I heard something…_ She shuffled her feet against the cold floor.

 

The sound she’d heard before came again.  It was a rhythmic thumping.  Alli gasped, then covered her mouth.  Then she smiled at her own foolishness.  There was no way the sultana could have heard that small sound through all the noise in that room.

 

That guard must truly be strong if he was moving that heavy bed, canopy and all.

 

Through the door, Alli could hear the sultana start keening, her gasps and moans growing louder, louder, mingling with deep growling from the guard.  All at once, the sultana gave an ululating cry, echoed in a far lower key by the guard.

 

A blush heated Alli’s cheeks.  _Gods, just listening to them is making me excited._   She spared a glare for the closed door to the boys’ room.  _And satisfaction so close at hand,_ she thought sourly, _and yet so far._   She sighed, and returned to her room, but not before she heard the guard say, “My lady, you might have dispensed with the aphrodisiac…”

 

***

 

As she had every morning since, Romelle lay in bed and cherished the memory of that one night.  She knew she was smiling rather foolishly up at the canopy, but there was no one about but Pidge, and he was still asleep.  The darling had not complained about not sleeping with her for one night, but he had watched her with sad eyes the next day, and had required reassurance that she would still keep him safe.

 

She sat up, stretching luxuriously.  Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcame her, and she tumbled out of the bed, flying to the chamber pot in the corner, behind a privacy screen.  She barely managed to hold her long hair out of the way.

 

The retching sounds she made woke Pidge.  “My lady!” he called anxiously, pattering over to the screen.  “Are… are you all right?”

 

Her stomach stopped heaving, but she could not answer him.  The episode had left her gasping for breath.  When she stopped panting, she managed to croak out, “Please, go get Alli, Angel.”

 

Then, as the sound of his footsteps faded, she realized just what it meant, and started to laugh.  Alli and Pidge found her still laughing, sitting on the floor next to the bed.

 

“My lady,” Alli started cautiously, “Pidge said you were very ill…”

 

Controlling her laughter was an effort, but Romelle tried.  Grinning from ear to ear, she looked up at Alli, and, shaking her finger, she said, “And you doubted that woman’s word!  Never doubt again, Alli, it worked!”

 

“It… worked?”  Then Alli started to smile.

 

“Like a charm.”

 

 _Fin_

 

January 27, 2002


End file.
